by Xavier Neal
My daughter pulls back and places both hands on my cheeks. “I can’t find Barry.”
I fight the urge to smile.
“He has to come with me tonight.”
The teddy Pax sent her weeks ago has managed to become her best friend. She’s slept with him every night. Brings him to the couch in the morning on the weekends when she’s having a lazy breakfast. We’ve even had tea parties with him. Seeing Pax try to get his large fingers to grip the tiny handle of a plastic, hot pink teacup while wearing a fluffy purple tiara was too priceless not to take a picture of. It’s the background image on my phone. Hattie loves staring at it as much as I do. She even made me make it the background on her tablet.
“Okay.” I promptly agree. “But do we have everything else ready for the party? Did you pack your jammies?”
“The Hello Kitty pair.”
“And fresh undies?”
She nods.
“Dress for tomorrow? Toothbrush?”
“Yes! Yes! We just need Barry!”
“Let’s find him then.”
I already texted Alyssa’s mom to let her know we were running late. She insisted it was fine especially since her husband wasn’t home to help yet.
Before there’s even time to stand up, Jennie’s voice croaks down at me, “Uh…Ryann?”
I angle my head to peer up at her. “Yeah?”
“There’s uh…There’s like a mob guy at your door…” She lowers her voice. “Like a muscle dude. Do you owe someone bank?”
Confused and concerned by the description and the phrasing, I rise to my feet, and instruct, “Keep looking for Barry, Hattie. I’ll be right back.”
She huffs but returns to the very important task.
The moment we arrive at the front door, a loud laugh leaps free that puzzles both the babysitter and my visitor.
Pax brow wrinkles. “Is my tie crooked?”
I shake my head and casually introduce, “Jennie, this is Pax, my…”
Date lingers right on the tip of my tongue yet feels wrong.
He’s so much more than just my date.
He’s the man that sends me fresh flowers for my work desk and brings home fresh bouquets for the table. The man that calls us every morning just to say hi and joins us for dinner every night possible. He’s the man who checks for monsters under the bed while I triple check the closet. He’s the man who bandages boo-boos and changes light bulbs. He’s the man who has swept me off my feet, and the one I’m waiting not so patiently to fuck me into oblivion. Guess the latter is mostly my fault. It’s one thing to just fool around with Hattie in the house. It’s a whole other ball game to have sex. During our first time, I don’t wanna spend it worrying that it’ll be the night she magically wakes up to noise. That’s not really a conversation I wanna have with my six year old.
“Boyfriend,” Pax inserts with a proud but irritated tone.
I repeat the word to provide comfort. “Boyfriend.”
His stiff shoulders relax.
“Pax, this is Jennie.”
He extends the hand not cradling the bottle of wine. “Pleasure.”
My young nanny mumbles something incoherently at the same time she shakes.
Her hand lingers in his a little too long, which prompts me to state, “Thanks again for staying late, Jennie. See you Monday.”
She yanks her hand back and distraughtly mumbles, “Yup, Monday…”
We watch her rush away to her white VW bug.
Once she’s behind the wheel, Pax diverts his attention back to me and states, “She’s strange.”
I snicker. “You either scared the shit of her or turned her on so much she forgot how to speak.”
His glower deepens. “My hope is the former.”
The words tempt me into teasing, “You sure? You don’t wanna sleep with the nanny?”
He scowls so hard I fear he may never smile again.
“Joking…”
Pax’s expression doesn’t change.
Swear, he’s as bad as Hattie is sometimes.
I close the gap between us and plant my lips softly on top of his. A small groan slips loose, which spurs to me to steal more. I capture his bottom lip between my teeth and playfully nip until his jaw drops to release a loud moan. My tongue briefly glides against his, growing wet when his palm roughly pulls me closer by the ass.
Unfortunately, a faint shouting separates us. “Mom!”
Pax looks confused again. “Thought she had a slumber party.”
“She does. You’re just early.”
“Six minutes.”
“Shit,” I grumble under my breath, hastily moving away from him. “Much later than I thought.” He shuts the door behind us, and I make my way towards the yelling child. “I still have to drop her off.”
“I’ll ride with you.”
Suddenly, Hattie speeds past me straight to Pax. “Pax!”
Without missing a beat, he lifts her into his arms, one handed. “Hattie Pattie!”
Her hands toy with his gray tie. “What are you doing here?”
“We have a date.”
“Without me?”
On cue her bottom lip protrudes forward at the same time her brown eyes gloss over in sadness.
Manipulation strategy 1-0-1. That look convinced my mom to take her to Disney on ice two weekends in a row, Bart to buy her an oversized flamingo floaty for his pool, and Jennie to let her stay up past her bedtime to finish watching “Inside Out”.
Pax cradles her closer. “How about we do a doughnut date tomorrow morning? I’ll ride with Mom to drop you off and pick you up, so we can go the second you’re back in the car.”
Hattie smiles excitedly. “Can we take your car?”
I squeak in objection. “What’s wrong with Mom’s car?”
“Pax’s car is so cool!”
My boyfriend hits me with an arrogant grin. “So. Cool.”
“My car is cool!”
“But his is so much cooler!”
“So. Much. Cooler.” Pax playfully pokes.
“Fine.” I surrender my hands in the air. “Whatever. Hattie, did you find Barry?”
Concern instantly cloaks his face. “You lost Barry?”
“No! No! I found him. He was hiding! He picked a bad day to hide!”
“We gotta have a talk with Barry.” Pax shakes his head. “Doesn’t he realize how important today is?”
“I don’t think he does!”
Her overdramatic exclamations threaten to make me laugh again. Instead of falling victim to it, I collect my composure and command, “Hattie, go grab your things. I’m going to grab you a snack for your backpack and then we need to get going. We’re already running late.”
Pax lowers her to her feet, which is when she sighs, “We’re always late.”
“We are not always late.”
She gives me a skeptical look.
Not in the mood to argue, particularly because she’s more in the right than I am, I sharply point to her room.
Hattie marches by, and I head the opposite direction to retrieve a granola bar.
We really aren’t always late, but I’ve learned one of the problems with being a single parent is when there’s no one to help speed up the tantrums or keep an eye on them while you try to put on deodorant or find the other high heel, you’re definitely going to need an additional fifteen minute leeway whenever you’re expected somewhere.
Once all of us are in Pax’s Range Rover and Hattie has herself buckled in her booster, she starts telling us all the details of her day at camp followed swiftly by how special it is she got invited to this slumber party.
“Alyssa G only invited three people over to her house! Three.”
Pax understandingly nods his head, approaching another stop sign. “Lucky you.”
“So lucky! Everyone loves her! Everyone always wants to sit next to her on the bus or have her be on their team for freeze tag. I wish everyone loved me like that…”
Her wistful
tone wreaks havoc on my heart. “I’m sure your camp pals love you, Hattie.”
She shrugs. “Not like they love Alyssa G.”
“Maybe not,” Pax interjects, “but love isn’t meant to be compared. It’s meant to be appreciated and enjoyed. More importantly, just having the love of one person can truly be enough.”
His warm words seem to melt the icy exterior my daughter was putting up.
The one I know I taught her how to build.
The one I hate myself for also having…
Her body leans forward at the same time she asks, “How do you say I love in Italian?”
He lightly chuckles.
She loves learning words in Italian.
He loves teaching her.
I love them both.
Wait.
No.
Too soon…Way too fucking soon.
“Io amo.”
Hattie enthusiastically repeats it. “Io amo.”
“Very good.”
She unbuckles her seatbelt the moment Pax parks the car. “Io amo your birthday cake!”
Another chortle creeps out. “Not quite, how you use it.”
“Then how do you say that?”
His grin remains as he turns in his seat to answer. “Adoro la tua torta di compleanno.”
Hattie frowns. “That’s way too many words.”
Pax attempts to hold in his laughter. “Just pinch your fingers together like this, kiss them, and say ‘bene!’.”
My daughter mimics the action. “Bene!”
This time neither of us can stop from laughing at her adorable behavior.
“Perfezionare.”
Hattie reaches for her bag. “It’s so cool you know Italian.”
Pax extends his balled up first for her to bump. “See you for doughnuts, Hattie Pattie.”
“Bye Pax!”
“I’ll be right back,” I quietly insist and exit his vehicle. On our way to the door, I quickly remind her, “Remember to eat all of your dinner, Hattie, and once more right before bed. Alyssa’s mom knows you’re supposed to be eating more than the other girls, so there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Please, remember to brush your teeth and use the emergency phone only to text me if you need me before morning.”
“I know, I know,” she mumbles before ringing the doorbell.
It only takes a minute before a perky, blonde woman opens the door to greet us. “Hello! You must be Hattie!”
My daughter shrinks at my side.
Strangers, particularly perky ones, are off putting.
Her shyness, I often fear, is also my fault.
Ugh. When you’re a mother everything is your fault…
I lightly nudge her to answer.
Hattie meekly says, “Yes ma’am.”
“What beautiful manners,” she coos with a hand on her chest. “Teach them to Alyssa please.”
My daughter softly giggles, and I extend my hand. “Ryann.”
“Susan.”
“Thanks for having Hattie over to the party and being so understanding about everything.”
“Totally fine,” she brushes off. “The girls are just settling down for pizza and The Incredibles.” Her attention falls to Hattie. “Do you like that movie?”
She slowly nods.
“Well, go on in.” Susan steps back and invites. “Straight down the hall and around the corner.”
Hattie gives me a quick peck on the cheek and rushes towards the party.
Susan immediately offers me another warm smile. “I remember your text. I’ll make sure she eats at least two pieces, some veggies, and the packed snack before bed. We’re just doing fruit bowls in the morning for breakfast in case you wanna plan for something with more substance when you pick up, which is at eight, by the way.”
“In the morning?!”
The expression of confusion is expected.
With a fake grin on my face, I nod my understanding. “See you then.”
She waves and shuts the door with them on the other side.
As soon as I’m back in the passenger seat, I snap, “Who the fuck, as an adult, is even up at eight in the morning on a Saturday that didn’t just party until that time?”
Pax lifts a finger.
“Why?! You don’t even have kids as an excuse.”
“Work.” He casually shrugs starting the vehicle. “Gym. Sometimes fresh baked cornetti when Mamma is in the mood to bake.”
“What’s cornetti?”
“Like a croissant. They’re pretty good. Mamma usually drizzles warm chocolate or sprinkles fresh sugar on top. Papà prefers his with cinnamon. Says it adds the perfect kick to his coffee.” Seeing his face light up at the fond memory has me preparing to push myself to convince him to tell me more. Unfortunately, he slams the gate shut on information train. “Why are you bitching about eight a.m.?”
“Right!” The tangent returns. “We’re supposed to pick up our kids at eight! Which means I have to get up at like seven something on a Saturday! On a work free Saturday.”
“Aren’t you usually up anyway?”
“God no! Hattie crawls into my bed or on the couch with a bowl of dry cocoa puffs around six forty and quietly watches cartoons while I sleep until around nine. It’s kind of amazing.”
“And a good reason I haven’t slept over yet. That’s not something she needs to see at the ass crack of dawn.”
“Literally the ass crack.”
We laugh off the joke and link hands, continuing the remainder of our drive in silence.
Once we’re back inside my house, I lock the door behind us and apologize, “Sorry this ‘romantic date’ didn’t exactly start off very romantic. Me rushing home late from work then frantically searching for a stuffed animal to then be extra late dropping off my daughter who demands to be driven in your car…At no point did my brain even consider a small descent into madness a possibility for tonight.”
Pax cracks a crooked smirk. “I’ll admit. Not the most ideal way to start a date night, but I think it would’ve been a tad bit more romantic if it were our kid we were dropping off.”
His retort freezes me in place.
“I think there’s something unusually romantic about two parents stealing a date night away.” A sad glint flickers in his eyes. “My parents used to do that when we were younger. Have one of the neighbor teens watch me and my sister until I was old enough to do it. The goal was every other week. Unfortunately, between their schedules and ours it rarely happened. More like once a month. I remember thinking someday when I have my own family, date night won’t be a suggestion or frivolous activity that immediately gets sacrificed for something else. My parents were always happier after a few hours alone together. I equated that to being one of the keys of a healthy marriage, which are nonnegotiable. People believe kids won’t understand, but I think that’s a fallacy. They’re human. They occasionally crave time alone and time together. I think it’s important to teach them those feelings do not waver when you become an adult or get married or have children. I think stronger communication between parents and children is important. It is something I will definitely strive for with the family I create.”
The speech leaves a surprisingly foreign feeling floating throughout me.
Is he right? Should I be communicating more with Hattie about how Mom and Pax occasionally need a bit of space? Is it important she is aware that adults need “adult time” too? Almost everything we do before she passes out for bed involves or revolves around her…Pax doesn’t seem to mind, but after listening to that speech, I’m not sure if that’s exactly true. Come to think about it, whenever I’m home and it’s just me and Hattie I rarely allow her time to herself. I feel compelled to always play with her. Work near her while she watches T.V. Have her sit in the kitchen while I cook. God, it’s like I’m overcompensating for being the only real parent she has…Is this why she’s always begging for more freedom? More independence? Would I be the world’s worst mother if I gave her some?
This is why parenting that involves two people is less likely to drive you insane.